


Happy’s Not-So-Happy-Birthday Party!

by pityshows



Category: DCU, Joker (2019)
Genre: Arthur’s a birthday boy, Other, arthur is not the joker, he deserves better, prequel to the movie(?), sad arthur fleck, young arthur fleck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21514585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pityshows/pseuds/pityshows
Summary: He had it all set up - he knew they’d gotten their invitations. His special day had finally come . . . where is everybody?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Happy’s Not-So-Happy-Birthday Party!

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick piece I wrote up today in honor of our lovely clown’s birthday. I hope he and Penny aren’t too out of character, I did my best to portray them both when they were younger, before things got as bad as they did. Any suggestions are so welcome!

𝟹:𝟸𝟹 𝙿𝙼, 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝, 𝟷𝟿𝟻𝟽.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
The clock ticked quietly, a solemn and monotone tune of confirmation of what he had already assumed to be the inevitable. A single banner reading “𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗬 𝟭𝟭𝗧𝗛 𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗗𝗔𝗬, 𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗬!” in his mother’s shaky handwriting hung over the television. It seems to lay dismally like everything else in the apartment, weighing down on the two nails that held it gingerly in place.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
He glanced up at the clock again for what felt like the tenth time in a minute, trying desperately to keep his heart from sinking any lower into his chest. 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻? Even his mother wasn’t home. She’d left a handful of hours ago, mumbling something about needing ‘more supplies for the party.’  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
She had helped him, after a few days of him pleading incessantly, with making small invitations for him to hand out to his class. With a crooked-toothed grin and a promise of chocolate cake, he’d slipped the little papers onto each desk in the room. He knew they’d received them - he watched them. Yet still, the party was set to ‘begin’ half an hour ago, and little Arthur Fleck sat alone on his sofa, eyes in a constant game of ping pong between the door and the clock in hopes that everyone was just 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
It was now within a good realm of possibility that for the eleventh year in a row, Arthur would be spending his birthday 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦. He didn’t understand what he’d done so wrong. Did he not deserve even one day to celebrate? To be around 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔? The thought that this trend may continue for the rest of his life felt like it was burning him. When Gotham got its grip on you and branded you ‘unworthy’, it was a label often impossible to unstick. Course salt rubbed deeper into his wounds as he thought about each of his classmates, and how none of 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ever treated each other this way. This seemed to be a brand of cruelty the world only ever reserved for 𝘈𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘳 𝘍𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘬.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
Just last month, the boy who sat at the desk to his left had handed out the same style of invitation. Every student in the class had received one, 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗔𝗿𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗿. He knew that they hadn’t stood 𝘩𝘪𝘮 up, because that party was all the class had murmured about in the days to come, all locked in those circles of conversation that shut him out unforgivingly. He had been so excited to go - He’d known about the boy’s birthday for a few weeks before it had come, and had been brainstorming the perfect gift to bring.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
Arthur had even given it to the boy anyway. After all, he’d spent a good three weeks’ allowance on it. He had been hoping that if they just 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 to prove he was worth their time, the money would have been well worth it.  
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He didn’t have the courage to approach him after being shunned from the party, so the gift was given indirectly - he left it on his desk with a little “happy birthday” note, and that had been that. He’d had his mother write it for him, so his poor penmanship and frequent spelling mistakes wouldn’t give him away immediately. He had seen him showing it around to the other children, and giving them a chance to play with it themselves - 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
He hopped down from the sofa with a full-bodied sigh, little feet bare and making soft padding sounds against the flooring as he approached the door. He swallowed the hopeful lump in his throat before standing up on his tiptoes to reach and turn the handle. He peered into the hall, glancing to the left and the right, hoping to catch sight of someone, 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆, making their way down to see him.   
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
He was greeted with an empty corridor, chipping paint and muffled yelling from a few doors down. The musty scent of the decaying building made his nose scrunch up.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
With a grimace, the door shut again, and he glanced over to his discarded magic set strewn out across the coffee table. He’d taken it out in hopes of 𝑑𝑎𝑧𝑧𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 his classmates - it had been hours of practicing in his mirror, straight down the drain. 𝗡𝗼! 𝗗𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁, 𝗔𝗿𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗿. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆’𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴! 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲.   
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He moved to take his magician’s hat in his hands, running his fingertips over the soft, velvet brim. An inkling of the smallest of smiles threatened to curl up the corners of his lips. He placed it upon the mop of freshly washed brown curls atop his head, his chest puffing out with the bit of 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 Arthur had always felt about his magic.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
The white tipped wand felt light in his fingertips, wrist moving fluidly to exercise all the 𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒏𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔 he’d worked so hard on committing to memory. He could even juggle! Well, for about four rotations before his hands went floundering for purchase, finding none. His card tricks were coming along swimmingly, and he was finally able to seamlessly produce a bouquet from his wand. After all - Arthur didn’t have much else to his name, and was left alone more often that not. 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 had become synonymous with 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 to him.   
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
The handle of the door jiggled slightly, the sound almost making him jump a foot in the air.   
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
A grin split his face, and he moved quickly to hide all of his props so as not to spoil the surprise. 𝗜 𝘄𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝘀! 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆, 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲! 𝗜 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱, 𝗜 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗜 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗯𝘆 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳, 𝗜 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁, 𝗜 𝗸𝗻-  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
“Happy? Is that you I hear?”  
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His mother’s voice sent his heart falling into his stomach like a deflated balloon. The smile dropped with it, his shoulders sagged and defeated.  
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“Hi, mama,” came his disappointed reply.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
Her arms were full of brown grocery bags, and Arthur knew they’d be eating leftover party foods for the next two weeks. The sweet taste made him feel sick before it had even touched his tongue.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
“Where is everybody?” Penny frowned, glancing around the seemingly empty apartment. Arthur’s dismissive shrug and red eyes told her all she needed to know. She sighed, looking down at the few options for foods that she was able to buy. She wouldn’t ever admit it to him, but she had a feeling this would happen. Arthur didn’t make 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 very easily. She wished he’d have listened when she tried convincing him not to throw a party at all.  
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She watched for a moment as he sat himself down on the sofa and allowed the tears to flow freely, now long past the hope of anything coming to save this party. They had cast him out, yet again, and there was nothing left for him to do except 𝘤𝘳𝘺 until this horrible day was finally over.  
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
Penny had gotten him a gift - it wasn’t anything special. A raggedy t-shirt she had seen at a discount store that she figured he 𝘮𝘢𝘺 have liked. It was cheap, easy, and would count as a present, so she hadn’t fussed much about buying it.   
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Something about seeing him there, softly sobbing and rubbing his snotting nose against his sleeve, tugged at something in her chest. She sighed quietly, moving past him into the bedroom.   
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀  
On the nightstand by her bed sat a little record player.  
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It hadn’t originally belonged to her - she had taken a month’s worth of salary from her savings to buy it as a gift for an old flame. He’d left it behind when he left 𝒉𝒆𝒓 behind as well. She had a few records, mostly a collection of various Sinatra songs. It wasn’t very much, but Arthur didn’t 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 very much to begin with.  
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And anything was better than the sound of those 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘴, which only seemed to get louder with every second that passed.  
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“Happy?” Penny called again, doing everything she could to keep the slight edge of irritation from bleeding into her tone, “Would you like your birthday present a bit early this year?”  
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Arthur tried not to scowl. His mother’s gifts were 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 lackluster. For a woman who’d raised him since the day of his birth, it was as if she didn’t know the first thing about him. Her boyfriends always got the nice things, and he received the scraps. That was just how things were.  
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“Sure, ma.”   
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“Close your eyes!”  
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He did as he was told, simply because she sounded excited and there was no point in simply wallowing in his misery. A forced sniffle kept his nose from dribbling while he waited, hearing the sound of some shuffling coming from her room. He was able to track footsteps, and the sound of something — 𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲? 𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗱? — being placed in front of him. He shifted with anticipation.  
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“Open your eyes!” He could hear the smile in her tone, which was rare these days.  
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Cautiously, his left eye opened, followed by his right. It took a moment for him to process the image in front of him, his jaw dropping as he gazed at the 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 she had placed before him.  
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“Mom?” He questioned, unable to think of anything else to say. He was waiting for a catch, some kind of punchline or limitation. He didn’t just 𝘨𝘦𝘵 gifts like this - something was up and he was waiting for her to explain what it was.  
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Penny simply shook her head and smiled at him, gesturing to the meager stack of records beside it. “You deserve a special gift this year, Happy. You can start collecting the records! How about you pick one out and I’ll go put the candles in the cake?” She gave him a gentle pat on the head, not one to kiss him very often, and moved towards their little kitchenette.  
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Arthur stared in awe, shaking fingers moving to gently 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 the sleek model, committing each detail of it to his memory as though it may vanish at any second. His attention finally moved to the collection of records, holding the soft sleeves that protected them in his little hands. He settled for one of his favorite of Sinatra’s albums, sliding the record into place. He held his breath as he placed the needle, not letting it release until the starting notes of 𝗠𝘆 𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗻𝘆 𝗩𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗲 started to filter into the stagnant apartment air.  
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The grin split his face again, unhindered by his former misery. All of it was lost in the music. He stood and he 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥, and he made a promise to himself that he would 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 dance at times like these.   
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Arthur Fleck had never had a better birthday.  
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**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my first piece on here, I hope to post a lot more because I am BURSTING with Arthur ideas. You can find more of my content at @pityshows on Instagram, and are more than welcome to leave me requests!


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